


Friend in the Dark

by Chaseachren



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Decisions, First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV Second Person, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29983269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaseachren/pseuds/Chaseachren
Summary: Oswald says he'll do anything for Jim. Jim takes him up on his offer.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon
Kudos: 17





	Friend in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely canon compliant. Set somewhere in season 1 or 2.

There is something about him that makes you want to hurt him. He’s proven that he can take a beating. He deserves it. 

“Please,” he says, sniveling in the alley, behind the GCPD. He has no business there, except to bother you. 

“What?” you say, “What do you want?”

“Please, I can help you!” He is begging. He’s too thin, pencil neck and painful collarbones. Old fashioned suit that makes you want to destroy it. 

“Help me with what?” you sneer, shoving him up against the alley wall. “You have nothing that I want.”

He makes a liar out of you when you take him home, and bend him over the back of the sofa. He is naked, trousers puddled around his shoes and socks. You are almost fully dressed. You press his face into the couch cushions, hand on the back of his neck. His breath hitches. He never says no. 

“What do you want, Oswald?”

“Please, Jim,” he moans into the pillow, “Anything, please.”

“Anything?”

“Yes!”

“Stay quiet,” you warn, “or I'll stop.”

“Yes, James, anything.”

You lick your fingers, index and middle. Suck them. It’s obscene. You press them against his ass, massage in gentle circles. You want to hurt him, but not like this. 

“Okay?” you ask. It’s rhetorical, but he nods jerkily. You sink one finger in, to the knuckle. It’s smooth, dry heat. You’ve done this before, with women. You rub your middle finger against the opening, press in. It’s harder, especially without proper lube. You won’t be able to fuck him like this, but the thought of trying burns in your gut. You feel Oswald suck in a breath, jerk forward. Two fingers deep, and you struggle to regain control.

All the way to the second knuckle. You pause for a minute, breathing harshly. You’re his first, you know this, and you like it. You slide your hand around; he’s hard, almost dripping. It’s the first time you’ve touched someone else’s dick. He bucks into your fist, gasping. There are freckles between his shoulder blades. You want to see his face, all of a sudden, so you spin him around. His eyes are weirdly colorless, sometimes blue, sometimes pale green. 

Pretty boy, with his pale, freckled skin. All sharp angles. You want to make him scream. 

“Wait here,” you say, “Don’t move.” 

There’s lube and condoms in the bedroom. For a moment you think of Lee, but you shake the thoughts out of your head like cobwebs. When you come back, Oswald is lying exactly where you left him, on his back with his legs bent awkwardly over the arm of the couch. For the first time you see the twisted shape of his ankle. The position probably hurts. You stroke the mottled skin gently, and watch the goosebumps erupt. 

“Jim,” he whines, the closest he’s come to complaining since you brought him here. He raises himself up on his elbows to look at you. You press him back down, rearrange his limbs until you can kneel between them. 

“Be a good boy for me, Oswald,” you tell him. He blushes. It’s disturbingly cute, spreading down his neck, to his chest. You follow the flush from his nipples to his throat, curling your fingers around his neck. His breath hitches and your pants feel uncomfortable tight. The sound of your zipper is deafening. There is no turning back now. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” you say. His eyes go wide. “Is that what you want?”

He gives a little jerk of a nod. It’s not enough. 

“Tell me you want it,” you demand. 

“Please,” he says, obediently, “I want it.”

“Want what? Use your words.” He looks away. Perhaps you are being cruel, but this a murderer. He deserves much worse than what is happening now. You grip his chin, and force him to look at you. “Say it.”

“Please, Jim,” he begs, and for a heart wrenching moment it brings you back to the pier, “I just want you.”

It’s good enough. You flip him over. This time your fingers are slick with lube, and two go in easily. You don’t have much patience before you’re sliding on the condom, lubing up your cock, and pressing it against him. This is your favorite part. He squirms away from you when you start pushing in, but you hold him firm, and press inexorably forward. You consider telling him to push out, to relax, but decide against it. He’s not your girlfriend, or your lover. 

“You can take it,” you tell him. By the time you’re balls deep, you’re both panting. His back is slick with sweat. You think he might be crying, and it prickles what’s left of your conscience. You go still inside him, and reach for his dick with your lube slick hand. You kiss his back, his neck, and tell him how good he’s doing, how hot and tight he feels. It does the trick. Before long he’s moaning, drooling onto your couch cushions, and thrusting into your fist. It takes you both by surprise when he comes. 

You’ve never had a girl come with your dick in her ass. It feels amazing. You start fucking him in earnest then, hard, deep thrusts that fill the air with wet, slapping sounds. He collapses forward with his head on his arms, and you yank his ass up, fucking him hard with one foot on the floor. Oswald is loud, and you slap your hand over his mouth. You bite down hard on the back of his neck when you come. 

After, when the condom is tied off and tossed, when Oswald is dressed and looking at you with big, wet eyes, the shame hits like a sledgehammer. 

“Jim?” Oswald says, tentatively. 

“Christ, Oswald,” you snap, “What?”

“Are you alright?”

The irony of it gets to you, and you have to huff out a bitter laugh, “I need a drink.”

“I’m glad we did this, Jim,” Oswald says, like this was some kind of business arrangement. Christ, maybe for him it is. You fist your hand in his hair, greasy and stiff from product, and yank him towards you. His eyes go wide. 

“Don’t get any ideas,” you warn, and release him with a shove. 

“No, Jim,” he says, “Of course not.” 

You wonder how this will change things. For the worse, undoubtedly. But when he’s going out the door, you catch the edge of a bite mark peeking out from his collar, and you can’t bring yourself to completely regret it.


End file.
